226 The Tea-Gown

MY lady has a tea-gown

That is wondrous fair to see,—

It is flounced and ruffed and plaited and puffed,

As a tea-gown ought to be;

And I thought she must be jesting

Last night at supper when

She remarked, by chance, that it came from France,

And had cost but two pounds ten.

Had she told me fifty shillings,

I might (and would n’t you?)

Have referred to that dress in a way folks express

By an eloquent dash or two;

But the guileful little creature

Knew well her tactics when

She casually said that that dream in red

Had cost but two pounds ten.

Yet our home is all the brighter

For that dainty, sentient thing,

That floats away where it properly may,

And clings where it ought to cling;

And I count myself the luckiest

Of all us married men

That I have a wife whose joy in life

Is a gown at two pounds ten.

It is n’t the gown compels me

Condone this venial sin;

It ’s the pretty face above the lace,

And the gentle heart within.

And with her arms about me

I say, and say again,

“’T was wondrous cheap,”—and I think a heap

Of that gown at two pounds ten!